


Porn Night

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M, Porn Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Joey have a porn tradition. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porn Night

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started writing this in 2003, actually. I know Tina (mdbl) helped encourage it for quite a while, and would probably be glad I finished it, so it's dedicated to her. Finished on June 8, 2006.

It started in Germany. Joey would always remember that. He'd known Chris before then, but not well, not in a way of actually knowing him. People seemed to assume that, because they both worked at Universal, and Joey would always refrain from pointing out that there were a hell of a lot of employees at Universal, and even though the music people did tend to stick together, that didn't mean they all hung out all the time.

So he'd known Chris more through reputation, could pick him out of a lineup -- _yeah, that's Chris Kirkwhatsit from the Hi-Tones_ \-- and had heard that Chris was fun and hardworking and a bit of an ass, but who wasn't? That was why it was funny to run into him at Pleasure Island with JC and Justin, who was way too young to be there even though it was an all ages night, and realize that they all knew each other one way or another. And Chris had grinned and said, "Yeah, you're Joey from Beetlejuice" and Joey had grinned back.

Even then, though, it hadn't started. Even when they started singing together all the time, after the trials with Jason and them finding Lance and Lou offering them a contract and buying them a house -- even after all that, a year of living in each others' pockets and that didn't start it.

It was in Germany. Joey remembered it clearly because they had an off day and it was warm and beautiful outside, and after a week of rain all they wanted to do was run around outside in it and--

"You can't," Wesley had said, tiredly, for the eighth time. "You realize what'll happen if you go outside? Even to a park?"

Justin had shivered and nodded. The group's popularity had taken off, seemingly out of nowhere, in the past few months, and they couldn't go anywhere without getting mobbed. Joey resigned himself to a night of trying to watch porn and hoping none of the others discovered him, since Chris would probably occupy Justin with videogames and JC would be sleeping and Lance would be doing homework.

He was sorting through videotapes in his bag when the door opened and he jumped, turned around guiltily. He was expecting it to be Lance, so he was surprised to see Chris.

"What's up?" he asked, wondering if he was blushing.

"You're red," Chris observed. He let the door swing shut behind him and flung himself across the bed.

"So?" Joey turned around to zip up his bag. "What's goin' on?"

"Wanted to see what you were doing," Chris said, and rolled over on his back. Joey twisted and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You wanted to see what I was doing."

"Yeah." Chris snapped his gum; he was chewing all the gum he could lately because Lou had told him he would have to get braces soon, and while he'd mouthed off about it Joey was pretty sure he was actually glad of it. Nonetheless he was chewing gum while he still could, and it was starting to drive Joey insane. "J and Lance are playing videogames and I'm bored."

Joey took that in, blinking bemusedly. "I'm not doin' anything fun," he said.

"Sure you are. You were blushing when I came in, so you must be up to something." Chris pushed himself forward so he was half-hanging off the bed, his hair flopping loosely down to almost touch the floor. "What are you up to?"

Joey opened his mouth to make a flippant comment and then paused. Then he shrugged -- _what the hell?_ \-- and said, truthfully, "Gay porn."

Chris stared, wide-eyed, for a moment; then he lost his grip on the bed and slid forward, banging his head on the floor. "Fuck!" he screeched.

"Shit!" Joey jumped up and grabbed at Chris, who was rapidly falling the rest of the way off the bed. He grunted as Chris landed half in his arms, half sprawled against him, and stumbled to his knees, attempting to set Chris down on the floor -- a task made more difficult by the fact that Chris was thrashing, twisting against him in an effort to turn right side up. For a terrified moment Joey was afraid that Chris had swallowed his gum, but then Chris took in a deep breath of air and sat up, glaring at Joey.

"You fuckhead, you don't just say things like that."

Joey couldn't repress a grin at the sight of Chris, flushed and eyes snapping. "Sorry?" he said, and got to his feet.

With a grumble, Chris stood up, too, but it was only to grab Joey's bag and dump it on the bed, unzipping it. "So what all you got in here, anyway?"

Of all the reactions Joey had been expecting, that was quite possibly the absolute last one. He stared as Chris spilled his tapes out onto the bed, picking through them -- they were mostly copies, with hastily scrawled labels, and Chris pulled one from the bunch. "This sounds good."

Joey gaped. "Uh, did I miss something?"

Already at the TV, Chris glanced back at Joey with a grin, then returned his attention to the VCR he was hooking up -- Joey hadn't even gotten that far in the process yet. "Dude, thought you knew. Or didn't you hear that rumor at Universal?"

"What?" Joey knew he was staring like a gap-mouthed fish, but he couldn't help it. "Rumor?"

Now Chris was laughing, though he paused to growl when he switched on the TV and got static. "Fucking German TVs. No, I thought everyone at Universal heard that I was gay."

It explained a lot, Joey thought in dim realization, but he only laughed a little as he reached for the bag on the bed, shoving the tapes back into it. "I missed that one somehow. I mean, I heard you were cool to hang with and shit, that was about it."

Chris made a triumphant sound as picture flickered onto the screen -- he'd already started playing the tape, and the two guys on screen were already half-naked and into it, one of them going down on the other. "Man," he said, dropping to sit on the floor with his back propped up by the bed, "that's good. Lock the door, dude."

Joey groaned, wishing he'd taken that step before Chris had come in. He locked the door anyway, then flopped down on the bed. Chris shifted, grabbed the remote and turned the sound down. "I hate the music on these things. Don't you ever wish they'd be like normal, talking and stuff?"

"Jesus," Joey muttered. Chris _would_ be one of those guys who talked through everything, including porn. He didn't even want to think about the fact that Chris's presence meant that now he wouldn't be able to masturbate. Chris's hand flew back again and smacked him in the head. "Ow!" Joey yelped.

"Pussy," Chris snarled. "Turn off the lights."

That command, Joey was eager to comply with. He rolled over and turned off the lamp by the bed, and the room fell into darkness, illuminated only by the glow of the television. With a sigh, Joey sat back against the headboard. From here, Chris's head was silhouetted by the television, and he could almost pretend Chris wasn't there.

A minute later, that illusion, too, was shattered by the clear sound of a zipper sliding down. "Chris," he hissed. "What the fuck?"

"Oh, shove it," Chris muttered back. "Just go ahead, it's not like I'm gonna watch."

Joey couldn't deny the thrilling pulse that raced through him at the thought of jerking off with someone else in the same room, even if that someone was Chris. He shifted, pulling his shirt up, and tried to unbutton his pants as quietly as possible. Chris didn't seem to be paying him any mind; he was still facing forward, attention on the screen; the actors were fucking, now, one of them down on his hands and knees with the other pushing into him from behind, and Joey was hard, rock-hard in his boxer-briefs. He tugged the waistband down and settled into the familiar rhythm, ignoring everything but the sharp clear brightness of pleasure racing up his spine.

He was close, only a few strokes away from completion, fist sliding rapidly over his stiff shaft, when he heard Chris's muted gasp, a low erotic whimper. It startled him, so hot and sudden, and he came all at once, hard and fast, in a haze of sensation. The room was mostly quiet for a few moments, and then Chris stood, tugging his boxers back up, and went into the bathroom. Joey reached down and grabbed the sheet, pulling it over himself just as Chris came back out again, flipping the light on without warning. Joey yelped and covered his eyes with one hand, and a wet cloth landed on his shoulder.

He peered through his fingers at Chris, who was smiling a little at him. "Don't say I never gave you anything, huh?"

"Thanks," Joey said quietly as Chris pulled his pants back on. He took the washcloth and slipped it under the covers, wiping himself clean. Chris stopped the tape, not bothering to rewind it, and sat back down on the bed as Joey slid his underwear and pants back up. He wasn't sure what to say now. It was one thing to live in the same house with someone and know they did stuff like that, but something else to witness it firsthand. Especially while watching gay porn.

But Chris just smiled easily at him and said, "So this was cool. Let me know the next time you're watchin'." He gave Joey a light slap to the shoulder, got up, and left the room.

When the door had snicked shut behind him, Joey muttered, "The hell I will."

* * *

"Hate you," Joey swore, slathering mustard on his sandwich. "Fucking asshole--"

"What did that sandwich ever do to you?" JC said, and Joey jumped a foot in the air.

"Jesus," he gasped. "Don't fuckin' do that!"

"Sorry," JC grinned unrepentantly, and pointed at the sandwich Joey was now cutting in halves. "Make me one?"

Joey didn't even think about it, just grabbed the bread out of the drawer and a paper plate from an overhead cabinet. JC shimmied around him in the narrow aisle and got a bottle of water from the fridge.

"So what's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," Joey replied.

"Bullshit," JC said easily. "You looked like you were about to take someone's head off a minute ago."

Joey finished layering salami and bologna, added a couple of leaves of lettuce, and spread the mayo he knew JC preferred on the inside of the top slice of bread. "It's," he started, and then sighed, glancing down to the lounge to make sure Chris and Justin were still safely ensconced within, and that Lance hadn't abruptly arisen from his nap. "It's Chris," he said, voice lowered.

JC picked up his sandwich and they went forward, sitting down at the tiny banquette. "What about him?" he asked before taking a huge bite of sandwich.

"He -- oh, man." Joey ran a hand through his hair. "This is so fuckin' weird. See, he found my porn, and--"

"So?" JC said, nonplussed.

The lack of reaction made Joey stop short; JC knew what kind of porn Joey carried around, so that revelation should have had some impact. "Am I missing something?" he asked.

"You knew he was gay, right?" JC's eyes went wide. "You didn't know. Oh, my God, Joey, I can't believe," and he started to laugh, spewing bits of bread at Joey.

"Ha fucking ha," Joey growled. "It's not that goddamned funny. Not like I ever asked him, you freak, will you fucking shut up already?"

JC heaved a breath, hiccuping, and finally swallowed. "S-sorry," he managed. "It's just -- _hee!_ \-- I didn't think you didn't know -- go, go on," and he flapped a hand at a glowering Joey.

"Anyway," Joey muttered, as JC subsided, "we ended up watching a video and jerking off. Not -- not each other," he added, seeing the question form in JC's eyes. "I was up on the bed and he was on the floor, I couldn't even see what he was doing."

"Bummer," JC said. Joey blinked at him, and JC grinned. "What? I bet it was hot."

"You're straight," Joey said. JC liked girls, he knew this for a fact, but JC just grinned enigmatically at him, and Joey scowled. "I hate you."

"So, what? It's all weird now, with Chris?" JC asked.

Joey nodded, taking an absent bite of his own sandwich. "He, after, he told me to let him know, next time I'm watching porn, but dude. I don't want that to happen again."

"Huh. Well, man, I guess you should tell Chris that. He won't get a subtle hint, you know that." Joey did, all too well; he'd spent weeks throwing Chris's discarded towels out of the bathroom -- where Chris invariably left them on the floor -- before he'd just finally broken down and yelled at him. Chris had blinked, saying, "Oh, is that why I keep finding my towels in the hall? Sorry, dude," and he'd never done it again.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh.

"You're not going to, are you?" JC said in a low voice.

"No, yeah, I am going to," Joey said. "I have to."

* * *

He didn't.

He was going to, he swore to himself, but then the next time Chris showed up, with beer in hand, he couldn't even make a half-hearted resistance. After that, it became something of a regular occurrence. Joey knew to anticipate Chris on nights when they were confined to the hotel, and he'd have everything set up in advance. Sometimes Chris would bring a normal movie, and they'd order room service and eat, chill, before getting down to business.

Most of the time they stayed in whatever position they'd settled in, so sometimes Joey had only to glance over to see Chris, sprawled on the couch or in a chair, lips parted and glistening in the light from the television. He refused to look for a while, still annoyed at being forced to share his porn, but eventually he got used to it. And besides, Chris was kind of sexy with his eyes all dark, half-closed, focused on the on-screen action, his lithe body half-visible under the shirt he'd rucked up (he never took it off), and of course the sight of his hand blurred and flying over his erection.

They never talked, though, not about what they were doing and especially not during it. Chris had maybe realized that it had made Joey uncomfortable, that first night, so once the tape started, there was just the jerking off, the hot little sounds Chris would make, Joey's gasps, and their orgasms, usually close together. Then one of them would get up and clean himself off, get a washcloth for the other.

When Joey tried to beat off alone in his bunk one night and found himself missing Chris's faint whimpers and sighs, he knew he was in trouble. It took picturing Chris to make himself come, and afterwards, he lay back, panting. He'd thought of Chris going down on him, a hot velvet mouth, sleek tongue, clever fingers. "Fuck," he sighed to himself. He hadn't wanted to think of Chris -- or any of them, really -- in a sexual way. But ever since that first porn night...

"Goddamned fucker," he muttered, cleaned off his belly with his t-shirt, and rolled over to sleep.

* * *

So it started in Germany, but it didn't end there. Joey had been sure it would when they went home, because they weren't in hotels anymore but living with parents or friends or, in Chris's case, a crappy one-room apartment, and they certainly couldn't do a porn night in Joey's bedroom. So Joey was absurdly happy when Chris called him one day, only a few days after they'd returned home, and said, "Dude, come over, I've got beer. Bring the porn." He tried to squash the happiness, annoyed at himself for looking forward to it.

As he grabbed a couple of tapes and shoved them into a backpack, he idly wondered if he was fixating on Chris because Chris was the closest gay guy he'd been around lately. Not that he didn't have his suspicions about Lance -- or JC, for that matter, or even Justin, who could occasionally flame like the Human Torch -- but he'd never done anything remotely sexual with any of them. Well, except the time he and JC had taken two gorgeous blondes back to the hotel in Bonn -- but they'd stayed on separate beds, and he hadn't watched... He had to shake himself out of the memory.

It wasn't as if Chris was the first guy he'd done anything with, either. There had been others, not a few in Germany, a couple at Universal, a few really remarkable encounters in high school. But he hadn't spent so much time in such close proximity with them, either; usually it was an evening of fun, maybe a few nights of groping, and that was it. So it just stood to reason that this was why he had this thing -- not a thing for Chris, no, it was just. Well, fuck, he didn't know what it was. Did it matter? No, of course not. He grabbed his wallet and headed out the door.

* * *

Chris greeted him at the door with a beer; in exchange, he slung the backpack into Chris's hands. "All fucking right," Chris declared cheerfully. "You the man."

"I am the man," Joey agreed. He kicked the door closed and took a long swallow of beer. He'd been missing the alcohol, too; his parents were really -- unnecessarily, he thought -- strict about that.

He made himself comfortable on the couch while Chris closed and locked the door, then plopped down next to him. The TV was already on -- it appeared to be well into a Pirates game, so they watched for a while, drinking and commenting. Joey wasn't much for sports, but he could tell how a game was going, and he made sympathetic noises as the Pirates' score fell further and further behind and Chris growled, cursing the Braves to the last man.

Finally, when it was apparent that the game was lost, Chris got up and shoved one of the tapes in the VCR, then gave the machine a smack on the side to make it play. While the credits ran, he made a quick round to shut off the lights and close the blinds, dimming the light in the room to a soft glow of sun through the cheap blinds, and then sat down again, tucked into the far end of the couch.

The tape was a new one Joey had bought just a few days ago, so he kept his eyes on the screen at first, watching the action start without preliminaries. The guys were stripping each other out of baseball uniforms; Joey couldn't help but be amused by the coincidence. Chris snorted faintly, and when he muttered, "Well, that's one way to feel better after the game," Joey laughed in spite of himself.

"They have the same idea we do," he said, rubbing his cock in an absent way. He wasn't quite hard yet, but it felt good through the fabric of his shorts and briefs. The action was picking up on-screen; one of the guys was already going down on the other, long slow motions that took the stiffening dick deep into his mouth, then back, glistening tongue licking eagerly over the bright red skin of a rounded head. Joey swallowed, tugged the button on his shorts open. If he narrowed his eyes, he could almost think the guy was Chris, and -- the idea of Chris doing that to him--

He glanced over to see how far along Chris was, and bit down on a gasp; Chris's hand was inside his sweats, moving lazily, and he was looking at Joey.

Joey yanked his gaze away, back to the screen; he could feel a flush of embarrassment sweeping over his face, his neck, and he swallowed. The touch of Chris's hand on his knee made him jump, but he looked down, swallowing, seeing Chris's thin fingers, knuckles scraped, nails bitten.

"It's OK," Chris said, his voice low with a curious urgency. Joey realized -- with a sudden breath into air-starved lungs -- that he'd never heard Chris speak in such an aroused tone. "If you want, you, you can watch."

Joey managed a nod, raised his eyes to look at Chris. Chris's own eyes were lowered, now, lashes long over dark, wide pupils, and his tongue flicked over his lips to moisten them. Joey's hand hovered over his crotch -- his shorts were way too tight now -- but it wasn't until Chris murmured, "Go on," that he undid them, shoving them down, along with his briefs, all at once.

"Shirt," Chris said and Joey yanked it over his head heedlessly. "God damn," and he sounded so appreciative, so pleasantly surprised, that Joey didn't feel much shame or even shock that he'd just totally undressed in front of Chris.

Chris scrabbled his jersey over his head, and then, as he shoved down his sweats, Joey groped at his dick, feeling a new wave of arousal surge in him. This was so different from his subtle spying; Chris turned toward him as he kicked the sweats off, ran a hand down his chest, fingering a nipple; Joey's soft moan echoed his.

"Jesus," Joey breathed without thinking, "so hot." A crimson flush rose to Chris's face, but he bit his lip and bent to his task, fist sliding easily over the hard length of his erection, his other hand cupping his balls, stroking the soft skin. Joey was starting to feel like he was in a porno, especially with the music still going in the background, and he wondered absently if this was going to become a regular part of porn night, too -- then forgot his thoughts as Chris groaned and threw his head back. He was fucking _performing_ for him, and it was so hot that Joey could hardly breathe.

He was jerking himself in time with Chris's fast strokes, Chris's hand sliding fast and hard over what seemed an impossibly stiff erection; when Chris came, suddenly, droplets of ejaculate spattering his stomach as he worked himself for every last sensation, Joey dropped his head back and moaned his own release.

When he looked up again, Chris was wiping himself off with his jersey, his heavy-lidded eyes still on Joey. "That was hot," he said softly.

Joey stretched a little, smiling, and raised a hand; Chris threw the jersey to him and he rubbed it over his belly. "Yeah," he agreed, in an equally quiet tone -- which was kind of funny since the movie was still playing -- "it was."

"I gotta pee." Chris lurched up, grabbing his sweats, and headed into the bathroom. Joey watched his bare ass as he went -- couldn't help himself -- and then pulled his own clothes back on. By the time he was dressed and had turned the movie off, Chris had emerged, ducked into his room for a clean shirt, and he came back around to turn the lights on again.

"Want another beer?" he offered.

"Sure," Joey said, bemused. He'd thought, after that -- but Chris was acting as if nothing unusual had happened, so he collapsed on the couch again.

The game was over; they flipped channels, watched an old John Hughes movie -- Joey could never tell them apart, they all looked the same and had the same actors anyway -- and afterwards, he glanced at his watch and muttered, "Shit!"

"What?"

"I gotta go, I told my mom I'd be back by seven." He grabbed his bag, slung the tape into it, and dug the keys out of his pocket as he headed for the door.

Chris followed him, unlocking it for him. "See you at rehearsal," he said, and Joey nodded. Standing there at the door, looking down at Chris, he had a sudden memory of Chris's eyes as he'd jerked off -- so dark, unfocused, hot -- and impulsively he leaned forward to kiss him.

He didn't even make it; their lips almost brushed and then Chris stepped back, giving Joey a shove. "Hey! Jerkwad, what the fuck?"

"I don't-- I thought--"

"Jesus, man, that's not cool." Chris scowled at him, and since he looked like he was about to punch someone's lights out, Joey sucked in a breath, muttered, "Sorry," and fled. He heard the locks closing behind him and took the steps downstairs two at a time. In the car, he banged his head on the steering wheel a few times, growled "fucking moron" at himself, and then started it and backed out, nearly hitting someone parked on the opposite side of the lot.

* * *

Joey would have liked nothing better than to avoid Chris for the next several years, but he didn't even get a week; they had rehearsals two days later, in preparation for several local shows. He showed up on time, having somehow managed to resist the urge to hop a bus out of Florida, and felt some measure of relief when Chris gave him nothing more than a nod upon arrival. Then Chris jumped on Justin's back and wrestled him to the ground, and Joey clenched his fists, feeling a pang of envy, anger even, that the incident could be so easily dismissed. After he'd vomited last night, so upset from going over and over it in his head--

A hand clamped down firmly on his shoulder and he jumped a little, then sighed as JC turned him around. "Dude, come on, we gotta get started."

"I know," he said. Just then, Lance came in at a run, puffing, apologizing for having overslept, and Justin shoved Chris off of him and they got down to business.

They weren't doing anything new, but it was strenuous enough to just be dancing again. The set list was switched around, so they had to learn the changes again; Joey's legs felt like water after half an hour. When they broke for lunch, he crawled to a couch and sprawled on it. Lance, who had already sat down, yelped and shoved at him.

"Joey, you asshole, get off me, you're fuckin' heavy," he swore. Joey clung to the couch's arm and refused to move.

Across the room, JC whooped. "Come on, Lance! Show him who's boss!"

"Fuck you," Joey swore, lost his grip, and fell off the couch. When he looked up, Lance was gulping heartily from a bottle of water, one eye fixed warily on him. "Fine," he muttered, and pushed himself up to stagger out of the rehearsal hall.

Chris and Justin were in the small cafeteria, along with the choreographer and a couple of the ubiquitous staff that ran the 'N Sync machine -- Joey didn't know who they were or where they came from, but he supposed they were TransCon people. He didn't really care at the moment. He got a water and a sandwich out of the vending machines and headed back out again before they could notice him.

He was outside, sitting at a dilapidated picnic table and chewing half-heartedly on the bland turkey sandwich, when JC found him. Slinging wiry legs over the bench, he smacked his hands on the table; Joey grabbed his water to keep it from falling. "All right, dude," JC said, "talk."

Joey swallowed and shook his head. "Nothin' to talk about."

"Man, _something_ happened, 'cause you and Chris are giving each other the evil eye and you look like you're about to puke."

"First day back." Joey took a mouthful of water.

"I'm not buying it."

Joey shrugged. "Sorry, man, but it's the truth--"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Joey! Quit actin' like I can't tell when you're fuckin' lying to my face!"

Joey flinched at that outburst; JC didn't lose his temper often, so when he did, it was generally a bad sign. He wiped his mouth and stared at the table.

"We had a porn night a couple of nights ago," he said, "and I, I tried to kiss him."

"You what?!" JC stared at Joey. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not fucking kidding." Joey hunched over the table, into himself; he could feel a huge knot of tension between his shoulderblades. "It. There was. He--" He took a deep breath. "We watched each other. And then after, I thought, you know, he might be interested." He picked at the label on the sandwich wrapper.

"Oh, _man_ ," JC said slowly. "Dude, when the hell did you decide you wanted him?"

Joey winced. "I don't know, all right? It just kinda happened. And now I can't stop thinkin' about it -- so I, I thought maybe-- fuck," he said, cutting himself off and raking a hand through his hair.

JC shook his head. "Wow, that was kinda dumb," he said, and Joey raised his head to level a glare at him.

"I know that, genius," he snapped.

"What are you gonna do now?"

Joey sighed. "I don't really know. Apologize, I guess." He set an elbow on the table and dropped his head to rest against his hand.

"That's a good start." JC stood up and picked up the empty water bottle and discarded plastic from the sandwich. "Today?"

"No, I'll. I'll talk to him later," Joey said, and when JC fired a look at him, he scowled. "I _will_. I promise."

* * *

Keeping a promise to JC was a lot different than keeping a promise to himself; he knew that if he didn't follow through, JC would do something treacherous involving Super-Glue and his favorite Motown records, so he cornered Chris after rehearsal and asked him if he wanted to go out and get something to eat. Chris gave him a strange look, but then shrugged. "Chinese?" he suggested. "After you get a shower, dude, you are rank."

"Like you smell like roses," Joey snapped back, and for a moment it felt comfortable between them again, like nothing had changed. "I'll come get you at your place in an hour."

Chris nodded and ran out the door, since Justin's mom had offered to give him a ride back to his apartment. Joey glanced over at JC, who was rubbing his hair with a towel, and scowled at him. JC gave him a squinchy-eyed grin in response. Muttering to himself, Joey flipped JC the finger and headed out to the parking lot.

An hour later, he was showered, shaved, and sitting in his beat-up Chrysler outside Chris's building. The thought had occurred to him, while he was carefully sliding the razor over his neck, that the circumstances somewhat resembled a date; he'd nearly nicked himself when that hit him, and swore profusely, grabbing for a Kleenex. The last thing he needed was to slit his own throat. Then again, considering how much he wasn't looking forward to this, maybe suicide would have been better...

Chris appeared from the building, casual as always in shorts and a Pirates t-shirt. Joey leaned over and flipped the lock on the passenger door so he could get in. "You're buying," Chris said. "Had to pay my phone bill, I got nothin'."

Joey shrugged and pulled out of the parking space. "Where you want to go? That place on Greenup?"

"No, go to Golden Buddha. They have better crab rangoon."

Joey rolled his eyes; he knew perfectly well that Chris was going to order more food than any one human could possibly eat. They talked desultorily on the drive over, discussing the rehearsal and the slavedriver qualities of the current choreographer, and whether they'd be able to do any shows here, whether the group would have any success here like they'd had in Europe. It was still a disconcerting feeling, Joey thought as he bumped the car into the parking lot at Golden Buddha, to think that only a couple of weeks ago, they'd had screaming crowds of fans chasing them everywhere, and now no-one gave them a second glance.

As expected, Chris ordered mass quantities, and Joey groaned inwardly, glad that he still had the option of living at home and didn't have to worry about rent and gas bills and things like that. He figured Chris was going to be squirreling away a lot of the food, so he didn't really mind. Once they'd placed their orders, Joey fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug, looking down at the placemat, which described the Chinese zodiac and the twelve years of birth signs.

"Which one are you?" Chris said suddenly, and Joey looked up, seeing that Chris's attention was also on the paper placemat. He glanced down at it again; it took him a moment to locate his birth year among the listings.

"Dragon," he said, and read from the brief description. "Full of vitality and power, hot-tempered, loyal, helpful to friends and family, strong and decisive." That sounded like complete bullshit, he thought.

Chris snorted, confirming his thoughts. "I'm a mouse," he muttered. "Optimistic, cheerful, easily worked up, treasures relationships with family and friends, sensitive, has good intuition and imagination."

"Sounds about right," Joey said, and ducked the straw wrapper that flew at him.

"I'm not a fucking mouse," Chris retorted.

"Whatever," Joey laughed. "'Easily worked up'."

Chris's eyes snapped, but he shut his mouth over whatever he'd been about to say next, and Joey forced his shoulders to stop shaking. This was good, he thought. Maybe they could get back to normal.

The first courses arrived, and Joey set to eating his wonton soup, slurping it carelessly. They hadn't had Chinese at all in Europe; he'd forgotten how much he loved it.

"So you want to tell me what was up with trying to come on to my ass?" Chris asked around a mouthful of wonton.

Joey swallowed hard. The lump of half-chewed wonton went down painfully; he had to wipe tears from his eyes once he'd managed to convince himself he wasn't choking. "Asshole," he swore.

Chris only grinned and took a drink of water, and Joey sighed, staring down at his soup.

"I don't know," he said. "Everything was different that time. I thought. I don't know. I thought because you wanted to watch me, you were. You know." He glanced around suddenly, nervous to see if anyone was listening, but the booths near them were unoccupied and the other patrons of the restaurant seemed interested in their own conversations.

"You thought I was interested," Chris finished the sentence. Joey nodded, feeling a dull flush creeping up his face. He waited for laughter, for anger, for some volatile reaction.

"Oh," Chris said softly. And then, in the quietest tone Joey had ever heard from him, "Are you?"

Joey looked up. He didn't know what he expected -- was Chris teasing, getting ready for some big joke? But he looked serious, his hand fidgeting with the edge of a napkin. "Are you interested?" he repeated.

Swallowing, Joey nodded. "I. I guess I have been. For a while now."

"How long?" Chris sounded merely curious, not hostile, not angry. Deep down, Joey felt something relax.

"I don't know exactly. There was. There was this one time, on the bus, when I was tryin' to--" He lowered his voice past the hushed tone he'd already been using. "To get off, and I started imagining you goin' down on me."

He knew he was red-faced now; what surprised him was the crimson staining Chris's cheeks. "Really," Chris said.

Joey nodded again. "And I. I guess since then, I got to looking forward to, you know, porn nights."

Chris looked away, his face unreadable. Joey wanted to ask what he was thinking, but, of course, that was when their server arrived, a tray loaded with dishes of food on one arm. Both of them remained silent as the food was laid out, the half-finished bowls of soup taken away, and when they were alone again, Chris looked over at Joey. "Thanks for telling me," he said. "That, that couldn't have been easy."

Joey took a deep breath and dropped his gaze to his food. He knew a gentle dismissal when he heard one. "Thanks for listening," he said, picking up a fork and reaching for the rice to scoop some onto his plate.

"I, uh," Chris said. Joey paused, fork buried in rice. "I am too."

Joey raised his eyes, meeting Chris's gaze. He'd never seen Chris this still. "You are..." he said, disbelieving.

Chris nodded. "I am."

They ate in silence, then, broken only by the click of silverware against plates, an occasional request to pass the soy sauce or the salt. Chris beckoned the server over to ask for a box or three, packed up what seemed like a metric ton of leftovers, and then he watched as Joey fished his wallet out to pay the bill and leave a tip.

"So," Chris said, sounding almost conversational except for the low note of arousal Joey had come to be so familiar with, "want to get out of here?"

* * *

They drove back to Chris's apartment, the radio blaring something nonsensical, but all Joey could think about was Chris's hand on his knee.

"Why'd you push me away?" he asked, as Chris unlocked the lobby door and let Joey in.

Chris only shrugged, heading for the stairs. Aware of how easily conversations carried in the open stairwell, Joey waited until they had made it down the fourth floor hall and into the efficiency apartment before repeating the question. This time, Chris sat down on the couch, deposited the bag of takeout on the coffee table, then yanked off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his loose hair.

"I didn't know what you were doing," he said. "It was one thing to, you know. Put on a show for you. I didn't think it would be a big deal, just, like, another aspect of what we've been doin' this whole time. But you watching me, it." He looked away, shrugging an indifference that Joey found suspicious. "It got to me." Nimble fingers picked at the cap's brim, tearing at a loose thread. "Made me realize I wanted you. And I didn't know how to deal with that."

Joey slid closer to Chris, moving across from the far corner of the couch where he'd initially planted himself. "You could have done somethin' besides yell at me and kick me out," he suggested, eyebrows going up to emphasize the teasing tone of his voice.

Chris snorted. "You wanted me to be rational? Look who you're talkin' to." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though, and Joey felt an alarming sensation in the vicinity of his chest, as if the breath had all been sucked out of him.

"You gonna do it again if I try to kiss you?" Joey asked, reaching for the baseball cap. Chris held onto it for a moment before letting Joey pull it out of his hands.

"Maybe." Dark eyes flashed up at him, and Joey inhaled. One thing was for sure, Chris would never be boring.

"Try to restrain yourself," he said, and bent his head to kiss Chris, one hand on his neck. Chris made a soft noise, met Joey's mouth with equal pressure, and Joey thought suddenly, cheerfully, that a whole new kind of porn night awaited him.


End file.
